


it's like some kind of clarity

by jessewrites



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: (it's pierre), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, kind of a pierre character study but not really lmao, other characters are mentioned but not enough to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessewrites/pseuds/jessewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pierre Bezukhov stands in front of a mirror. He can’t help but notice that it feels… right. Or at least, not wrong. Maybe Helene was on to something. Maybe Helene knows something he doesn’t.<br/>A candle flickers on the nightstand behind him. He finds himself staring at it instead of his own reflection.<br/>On second thought, maybe he doesn’t love this outfit.<br/>On third thought, maybe he doesn’t love the idea of going out tonight.<br/>He does need to catch up on his reading, anyway.<br/>Besides, everyone knows of the new Countess Bezukhova. He doesn’t want to ruin… something for his family by getting caught dressed as a man.</p>
<p>(or: the trans pierre au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's like some kind of clarity

**Author's Note:**

> ok so !! this is canon era, but some details are a little vague (ie, pierre & helene's marriage). please bear with me ! lmao

Pierre Bezukhov stands in front of a mirror. He can’t help but notice that it feels… right. Or at least, not wrong. Maybe Helene was on to something. Maybe Helene knows something he doesn’t.

A candle flickers on the nightstand behind him. He finds himself staring at it instead of his own reflection.

On second thought, maybe he doesn’t love this outfit.

On third thought, maybe he doesn’t love the idea of going out tonight.

He does need to catch up on his reading, anyway.

Besides, everyone knows of the new Countess Bezukhova. He doesn’t want to ruin… something for his family by getting caught dressed as a man.

\---

He spends hours trying to perfect his voice, his hair, his posture.

Helene helps him. She’s starting to understand, maybe, that this isn’t just an outfit.

“Handsome,” she says once. She hasn’t called him “husband” yet, or even “he” or “him”.

Still, though.

Pierre catches himself wondering (hoping) this whole… thing might actually work out.

(He’s not sure what this whole thing is, if he’s being honest. He just knows that he isn’t anyone’s wife.)

\---

Andrey Bolkonsky is fighting in the war.

Andrey Bolkonsky is fighting and bleeding and maybe watching his friends die in front of him on the battlefield.

Pierre, sometimes, on the bad nights, wishes he could fight and bleed and watch his men die beside him.

They don’t allow women in the army.

\---

He takes up drinking. He drinks when he’s in a bad place, to forget, and then he starts drinking even on the good days, sometimes, because it’s a bit of habit now. 

He goes to the clubs and sometimes he gets into fights, just because he can. He takes a sick pride in the black eyes and bloody knuckles he ends up with.

The men at the club don’t think anything of it. Bar fights aren’t anything special.

Pierre Bezukhov is just another nameless man who’s had one too many drinks. There’s nothing special about him at all.

\---

Helene introduces Pierre to her brother.

Anatole must be, Pierre thinks, the quintessential Man. He’s handsome and popular and doesn’t think twice about any of his actions. 

Dolokhov is the same way, perhaps with a bit more feelings and a bit fewer women. Still, no one would ever dare question that Anatole Kuragin and Fedya Dolokhov are anything but classic Russian men.

\---

Women pity him. Most people have all but forgotten about the young Countess Bezukhova, assume that Bezukhov had some other son that had never appeared in the public eye.

Women pity him, say it's a shame that he is so charming, but shares nothing beyond an occasional kiss with his wife. (Pierre doesn’t know whether to be proud or disgusted at the amount he had to lie to call Helene his wife.)

They don't know about the days (most days, really) when he can barely stand to look at himself in the mirror, let alone to let someone else. 

\---

Pierre drinks.

\---

Helene doesn't care about his… history. She only cares about his money and maybe, to a lesser extent, him as a person in general. He doesn't know if that comforts him or makes him feel worse.

\---

Pierre didn’t even tell Helene for the longest time. He tried, several times. He did. 

One of the nights, after God knows how many attempts, he finally snaps. (Well, as close to snapping as Pierre Bezukhov will ever get.)

“You don’t understand!” he half-shouts, and then, quieter. “You don’t understand.”

Helene opens her mouth, starts to say something. Closes her mouth, steps back.

“But is it  _ really _ -”

Pierre tries to restrain himself from shouting - it doesn’t really work.

“You don’t,” and now his fists are clenched. (Not at Helene; never at Helene. At himself, maybe.) “You don’t get it. You can’t. It’s- I’m-” and his words are punctuated by the sound of shattering glass as the cup in his hands smashes against the floor.

He immediately regrets it, but there’s nothing he can do now.

“I’m - I’m sorry.”

It occurs to Pierre that this is the first time he has ever seen Helene speechless.

He can’t not tell her now. This is his own fault.

“Do you… remember the Count Bezukhov’s daughter?”

“The Count Bezukhov didn’t have a daughter,” Helene says, slowly, obviously more than a little confused. 

Pierre can’t help but flinch a little when the realization shows on her face.

\---

“You’re not the only one,” Helene says. “I’ve met - heard of - other men… like you. Women, too.”

Pierre, if he’s honest, doesn’t really care. He knows Helene’s trying to help.

“That’s… nice.” Pierre says, hoping it looks like he’s interested. “Really.”

Helene half smiles.

“I won’t tell Anatole.”

Pierre breaths a silent sigh of relief.

\---

Natasha doesn’t know.

Natasha doesn’t need to know.

(For some reason, Pierre thinks, Natasha might not be so bad to tell.)

\---

Pierre, contrary to popular belief, is quite happy staying home.

He genuinely enjoys his studies. He does.

If he’s honest, though, sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to. It’d be nice to just be one of the men for once and to feel like it even when he’s sober.

Helene promises him that Anatole doesn’t know, that Dolokhov doesn’t know, that Natasha doesn’t know, but he’s seen the looks.

With Anatole, it’s curiosity. A strange fascination with the way Pierre speaks or walks or dresses. 

It’s only uncomfortable when Pierre notices.

He can’t quite place Natasha’s looks.

Her eyes are always soft, and warm, and welcoming. There’s something else, though.

Maybe it’s pity.

(Pierre is tired of being pitied)

\---

Andrey comes back.

“You’ve changed…” and he’s at a loss for words, never quite used to saying  _ Pierre _ , “... my friend.”

A silence. It’s enough.

“A lot has changed,” Pierre says.

The conversation slows, and eventually both of them find they have nothing else to say.

\---

When he finally sees Natasha, for what feels like the first time, few words are exchanged.

Everything is said that needs to be said.

Pierre leaves the Rostovs’ feeling strangely at peace. Natasha had smiled. She had looked happy for what Pierre supposes is the first time in weeks.

\---

Pierre sees the comet.

He knows it’s said to bring fear, and horrible things, and the end of the world, but Pierre feels none of the terror everyone else seems to be suffering from. 

The comet is bright like hope. The kind of hope that scares Pierre a little, because it’s so strong and he doesn’t know where it came from.

Pierre finds tears of joy welling in his eyes.

God, how  _ small  _ he must look to something like this. How pitiful.

It’s kind of comforting, how little he matters in the great scope of the universe.

\---

Pierre knows it’s impossible, knows he’s being ridiculous, but it feels as though the comet knows him.

Perhaps it knows that Pierre’s life is changing as it splits the sky in two above him.

(Pierre is alone in the street. It begins to snow. He no longer tries to hide his tears.)

Suddenly, nothing matters. Everything matters.

Perhaps this is the beginning of a new life for Pierre Bezukhov, or something of that sort.

He thinks he’d like that. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello !! thanks for reading !! comments/kudos are always appreciated :0
> 
> (title from 'letters' from great comet !)


End file.
